


if you're falling, i'm falling (falling after you)

by shortitude



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Braven makeout fest, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: Fills for the 'Braven makeout meme', each chapter/drabble = one prompt.





	1. if you must fall, know that i'll catch you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **because curls** for **nadege** and **zauberer_sirin**. vaguely s4 in a way that only uses what i know from gifsets.

He’s been lying down in her lap for three whole minutes now, and yes - it’s strangely comfortable. How they got here - the need for comfort, the loneliness that has seeped into their bones, the distance - isn’t a surprise. If she thinks about how much they’ve gone through together, how much she knows about him and how much she knows about _him_ , she comes to realize that she has somehow landed herself a best friend in the shape of Bellamy Blake.

Which hit her hard, when the Grounders had him. Had her unable to sleep, rushing Clarke and the Council to _get him back_ , with the same desperation in her voice as when it had been Finn who’d gone there to give himself up. Only Bellamy hadn’t gone willing, however little it mattered. She’d been ready to go do what Clarke hadn’t had the balls to do the last time they were in this position, so that settles it. Bellamy has become her person; her only person on the ground, her only person still alive. 

That’s why, when exhaustion takes over and he just slumps sideways in the cot they’re sitting in, she takes the glass of hooch out of his hand and sets it down, settling down to play with his hair. 

“I should’ve backed you up louder,” he mumbles sleepily, as if the comfort of her bony thighs is enough to make him lower his walls. 

She twirls a few unruly curls around her fingers, and tugs lightly for attention. His gaze focuses on her, wide-eyed and deep with the burden of too much death, too much loss, and a whole lot of caring for each departed soul.

“We’ll figure out what happens next. Rest, now,” she says. If she combs her fingers through his hair, he’ll close his eyes and exhale like a big cat, about to fall asleep. His hand comes up to touch her lower back, squeezed between the wall and her body, bringing sudden heat and comfort where it’s much needed. 

Her fingers twitch into his hair, hold still. It hits her. 

They could’ve lost him. _She_ could’ve lost him. 

_And would he have known, how much that even matters?_

It’s never a good time for this anymore, but it seems that nowadays any time might be the last one. So she bends over, and presses her lips to his hair, inhaling shakily, until his presence solidifies itself in her mind. He’s safe. She moves lower, kissing his forehead between his eyebrows, feeling a frown smooth itself out with the simple brush of her lips. His eyelashes almost tickle her chin when he opens his eyes again, and their conversation stays silent. _Do you…?_ and _Are you sure…?_ don’t make it past their mouths. 

Raven makes sure of it. 

With an inhale, she tells herself, there might never be a better moment, there might not be a next one, and kisses him. It’s a peck on the lips, soft and chaste, but it’s impossible to confuse it for anything else. He gets it. His free hand comes up to curl over the nape of her neck, and with a mutual exhale, they press their foreheads together. 

It might not be the time for more now, but at the very least, they know.


	2. concerned environmentalists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **shower** , for **zauberer_sirin**. slightly m-rated. mentions of disability and masturbation.

The bad part with communal showers is that there’s no privacy. Things were the same on the Ark, so Raven is used to it, but every now and then she would like to have them to herself. 

Today, for instance. 

She’s been feeling like an animal in a cage, ready to snap, _willing_ to snap, hiding behind her frustration and anger like they’re shields. When Miller became the target of her irritation, he hurled the solution at her with a snap of his own: “Try getting laid.”

For all that sex hasn’t solved her problems before, she’s decided that finding someone on whose dick to untangle her brain isn’t going to work, and so -- the showers. 

But she’s not alone. She has the benefit of being relatively short, when the brace and boots come off; to keep herself from falling over out of balance, she has a stool in her stall to sit on, so the partitions effectively hide her. It doesn’t mean she can just get off when she knows someone’s in there with her. 

He comes when she’s done cleaning up, and she recognizes him by his sigh only, when the water jet hits his body. With a shudder, she squeezes her lips and thighs shut, and takes a deep breath. _Please don’t be here to jerk off_ , she begs, and then there’s that telling sound of skin against skin and a _moan_ and - 

_Oh god._

“Hi, Bellamy!” she shouts, eyes squeezed shut, praying it works. The movement stops, a soft curse follows; she can’t help but grin at it. She gets more creative than that. 

With minimal effort, Raven gets up from the stool, and drapes her elbows over the top of the partition, greeting her stall neighbour with a smile. There he is, all his naked glory, and it looks like he definitely came here with the same thought in mind. 

“Well,” she starts, when he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “You _could_ come over here...” 

(Nevermind that they haven’t talked about it in months, never acknowledged the night. She’s acknowledging it now, with all the development that followed. And so what if this is how it starts again? No reboot was without its awkward beginning.) 

He is a much better point of balance than the stool. 

“Saving water, right?” she can’t help but quip, as he presses her against the wall with a determined sort of gentleness; hands on her hips, head bending down, lips already parted. “Protect the planet and all _mmmph_ \- “

Later, when their lungs can’t last without air any longer, he breaks apart to say, “I’m just very pro-environment.” She bursts out laughing, and drags him back in for another kiss.


	3. we're not nice people, but we're so good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **out of spite** for **semele**. this chapter contains kyle wick, with a glorious fuck you to him.

When she breaks up with Kyle, he tosses the words at her like they’re meant to be each an individual knife aimed at digging into flesh and tendon and heart. _You only seem to love yourself, anyway._

They follow her around like ghosts, like skeletons in the closet and under the bed: is she heartless, or was it him? It takes Raven some time to realize that it was never about whether or not she could love anyone else, because she can; she loves so hard and burns so fast, it’s a surprise she hasn’t learned better by now. It’s just, she never was interested in loving _him_. It takes her some time to forgive herself for it, but she does. 

When she starts over with Bellamy, _tabula rasa_ , all awkward first nights put behind them, the words return to haunt her. Or -- no -- rather, Kyle returns, to catch her actually looking happy to be hugged by someone in the middle of her workshop, so he tries to haunt her. 

He makes a public mess of it, dragging her out -- or trying to -- during dinner. Shouts out his warning to Bellamy like some disgruntled little piece of shit ex. _Beware, Blake, this one doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else but herself._ It makes people sitting around them go silent. They look from Bellamy to Raven like they’re wondering which one will start a fight, but it’s Bellamy who moves first. 

He turns towards her, puts his thumb lightly under her chin, and tips her head back so he can crush his lips to hers with devastating precision. His tongue sweeps at her lower lip, and she opens her mouth with a soft moan that carries, finally moving to grab onto the front of his shirt. This goes on for a few seconds, not too obnoxious but just the kind of kiss she likes to get; the kind that says _I’m all yours, and you can choose what to do with that_. 

Then he pulls back and pins Wick with a disinterested look. “Nah. She just doesn’t give a fuck about _you_.” 

It’s petty, and spiteful, and so childish to rub it in like that, but Raven wants to laugh out loud. She would’ve done exactly the same thing.


	4. do you kiss your lover with that mouth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **dirty** for **nadege**. pre-established relationship fics are great and you agree.

They make soap and it’s a revelation. It’s like the first time they have meat on the ground, except this time instead of eating, everyone has small crying fits of joy because being able to shave without the razor burn is a luxury they’d forgotten. 

You can wash hair and sweat and mud with enough scrubbing and water, but frothy bubbles that make the blade not scrape at skin have become almost a relic of the past. So when they make soap and distribute it, there’s a long line that forms itself leading to the communal showers, made up of women and men alike. 

Bellamy doesn’t really have patience to sit in it; or rather, Raven doesn’t feel like waiting for him to do it, so she just drags a bowl of water to their tent and has him kneel down on the floor before the bed, bracketed by her thighs. She shaves him, humming to herself, cooing and _aahh_ ing over the soft skin left behind. 

“No more stubble burn,” she tells him when he raises one eyebrow as a way of explanation. 

“You never complained before,” he says, waggling his eyebrows now, cheeky. She almost nicks him when his cheeks move as he grins, and he’s rewarded by a soapy hand smacked playfully over his mouth. 

Laughing, he falls on her, pressing his lips to hers and swallowing up the protesting groan, moving to kiss the underside of her jawline as she says _blegh, Bellamy, all I taste is soap now._ The water bowl falls to the floor, forgotten. With his face half-shaven, Bellamy wipes her mouth clean of soap with a tender brush of his thumb, and pushes himself up from his knees. She’s light in his arms and easy to shift a little further up so he can come to rest on top of her. The shaving can wait, he has a Raven to kiss. 

It’s not like the soap is going anywhere. 

(Then again, it’s not like Raven is, either.)


	5. get a clue already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **in public** for **nadege**. warning: pees on the concept of bellarke.

Raven is a private person because the Ark taught her to be one. There was never any amount of affection shown towards Finn in public; it was, in fact, when they were reunited on the ground that she first kissed him and held him in public, but look how that went. Since then, every other person who has managed to tug at her heartstrings has been kept like a secret, hidden in tents and workshops, She’s not _ashamed_ of her choices, not when they happen; for one of them, it’s only after that she’s embarrassed that happened, but nevermind him. 

She just doesn’t want interruption, or judgement, in the middle of something that feels _good_ for a change. Bellamy understands, because he is as private as she is. They meet and come together in her room, and in his tent, and in the workshop, and somehow they are so discreet that it’s been months now and nobody has noticed. 

Back in the dropship settlement it was the whole _point_ , nobody knew and nobody has known since, but now it’s ridiculous because it’s not like they’re actively trying to hide it. 

“I think people honestly expect you to get together with Clarke,” she tells him in a sideways mutter, after eavesdropping accidentally on a conversation between him and Jaha, and another one between him and Kane, and another one between him and Jackson. It starts to grate on her; _he’s hers_ already, why can’t anyone see that? Somehow it’s just assumed that, like before, anyone Raven loves will eventually love her highness, princess of bad decisions and poor leadership skills. 

Bitter? Raven? No. 

She leaves the garage before he can defend himself, before he can tell her how awkward it makes him feel when some people just assume that he will take a secondary position of submission, because it’s not like when they think _boyfriend_ the mean _equal_. Nevermind one important thing: does he even _like_ Clarke? Raven doesn’t want to hear the answer to it. 

But Bellamy wants her to have the answer to it anyway, so he’s following her. 

Outside, it’s raining dramatically, and people are putting a joint effort into covering the crops and electronics with tarp and plastic sheets, in an attempt to not lose any of them. She’s in the middle of barking orders, when he catches up with her, and for a fraction of a second she expects them to fight. 

( _Don’t you trust me when I say you’re enough?_ But no, Bellamy understands her so well, that he can read through the bitter lines and see that deep down, she wants to be told in grand gestures.)

He kisses her in the rain, the Camp bursting with movement around them. The world stops for a few seconds, his breath warm and her heartbeat loud in her ears. When he pulls away, eyelashes matted with raindrops, she can tell that a few people around them have stopped to stare; some even look surprise. He pecks her on the nose. 

( _Well, you’re more than enough, you’re perfect_ , he’ll tell her every night when he thinks she’s falling asleep. This here is as much for her as it is for him.)

People stop dropping hints at him about Clarke altogether. 

_epilogue:_

“Oh, thank fuck,” says Clarke.


	6. those damn millennials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **during a party** for **nadege**. a little r-rated. modern au.

They start playing spin-the-bottle three hours into the party, after three bottles of wine are already in the recycling bin. Some people have moved on to beer, others are raiding the liquor cabinet on a quest to mix cocktails, because they don’t make you as hungover in the morning don’t you know? 

There’s hollers and whistles and downstairs neighbours feeling disgruntled and muttering a _these damn millennials_ every five minutes. 

Outside on the balcony, not involved in any game from high school, Bellamy presses the most beautiful girl at the party against the building’s outer-wall and kisses her until she’s breathless. Her hand is resting comfortably inside one of the back pockets of his jeans, while his is between them. Button and zipper undone, underwear pushed aside, fingers deft and right on target. 

Raven moans against his lips. Inside, the party roars on as Harper is forced to make out with Octavia and the peck lasts longer than a second. 

Bellamy bites at Raven’s lower lip, curls his fingers and asks her to stay the night. 

She laughs, and nods, and buries her groan against the side of his neck. 

Downstair, the neighbours share another tsk and roll their eyes. “Damn millennials,” one says, and the other turns up the volume on Wheel of Fortune.


	7. wild eyes, soft lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **playful** for **zauberer_sirin**. grounder!braven au, bet you didn't expect THAT ONE.

Sunday morning is for themselves. They give every waking moment to other people, ready to be called, ready to put out fires, but everyone knows that Sundays are off limits. Unless something is on fire, nobody bothers the chiefs on Sunday morning.

Children of the tribe will imagine it's some scary thing, that they'll come out with weapons in hand ready to extract punishment on whoever dares intrude on private council. 

If only they knew.

Raven has been Heda for almost a year now; Bellamy has been her right hand for longer. Outside the tent, they are on different steps of a ladder, but in reality if they work at all it's because they work together.

They're efficient, they're imposing, they're cunning and fiercely protective, they are --

“Nooooo!” 

\-- super scary, yes.

“Surrender,” he says, lips pulled back in a smile, hovering over her as she pretends to protest and breaks into giggles. He tickles her once under her armpits, a dirty trick from childhood, and delights in her sounds. 

“I'll have you for treason,” she warns, still laughing, laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.

Sunday mornings are so they can remember they are more than just unbreakable leaders. They're human, they're soft and tender and foolish, they're reckless, and strong with emotion. Emotion like the love that runs between them is nothing but strong. 

She settles the fight by rolling on top of him, getting the upper hand in a moment of weakness - he's caught looking down at her breasts. 

“ _You_ surrender,” she hisses, playfully.

He lets his hands fall up next to his head. “For you, Heda, always.”

She bites at the corner of his smirk, and crushes her mouth to his for a second, gone the next and forcing him to chase her the next. Chase her he does, nipping at her lips like predators hunting prey. They roll and tumble again, ending up on the floors, three panther-skins dragged down with them.

There, on the ground with her spread on top of the silky fur, he surrenders to her and kneels at the altar between her legs.


	8. a hint of spring in this wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **after a year** for **zauberer_sirin**. hints at those s4 spoilers that got leaked, kinda sad. it mentions finn and wick (and then proceeds to pee on them because fuck you, raven deserved better). tries to end all hopeful and stuff, mostly just pretentious and poetic. okay, bye.

It’s been a year since anyone’s kissed her, and she can’t believe her last point of reference was Kyle Wick. But Raven is neither counting, nor bitter. 

It’s been a year since someone’s kissed her, and two months ago she’d come to terms with the idea that nobody would want to anymore, and that was fine; more pressing matters and all. But the inside of the Ark is lonely and quiet, and she grows lonely and quiet, and there are plenty of times to think about this. You’d think that since the doors to the radiated outside close and the clock is set, she’s been thinking about more important things, like keeping the greenhouse going and making the living arrangements work, and grieving for everything they’ve (she’s) done, but no.

Raven just wishes someone would kiss her already. 

It’s been a year, and she’s forgotten how to feel warm. What’s it like to be wrapped in someone’s arms and kissed within an inch of passing out from the onslaught of passion? (No, really, tell her what it’s like. Finn, for all she’s loved him, never gave her that either.) 

Two months after her resolution, she breaks her own vows to not need anybody, not be a stupid fragile heart again, and it’s all because Bellamy has a mouth. 

She’s been staring at it for the past five minutes, as he focuses on reading his book. He’s camping out in her workshop again because he, too, misses company. (Every minute he spends on his own in his room reminds him of the days he spent in a cell and she wants to spare him that. He has his own corner.) He has beautiful lips, and she takes more pleasure remembering what _they_ felt like against hers than those of the other two men who’d kissed her. 

(Not to speak ill of the dead, but there’s one, at least, she doesn’t even want to remember nowadays.) 

If she kissed Bellamy, she wonders, how much would he care? Would he hate her, push her away, ask what the fuck is wrong with her? There are times when he looks at her like he would like to crawl under her skin and hide there, but then she thinks, it’s probably just in her head. The moment always passes and they’re left with all their choices, their past, their skeletons. 

It’s been winter for so long. 

She could do with a little spring. 

She decides that if he rejects her, she’ll apologize and she’ll leave him alone; but if she’s right, if there’s been something building up between them, then don’t they deserve a little warmth too? A little humanity, a hint of spring, the flicker of hope? 

“Screw it,” she mutters to herself, and slides over down the workbench until her hip touches his. When he turns his head to look at her, a worried frown already on display, she closes the distance and kisses him. 

(Flowers bloom, crops grow, a sterile bunker feels full of life.) 

He drops his book, cups her face in both his wonderful hands, and deepens the kiss like he’s been waiting for this for months. 

(He has, but she’ll only learn about it three weeks later.)


	9. blink and you'll miss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for **raiindust** and one lovely anon: **without thinking**. Some post s2 stuff right here, but can easily be whatever. #softapocalypse

The ground freezes that winter. 

It takes everyone by surprise. Temperatures drop during the night, and everyone still using tents to sleep in outside the remains of the Ark wake up startled, cold, small; sleeping bags rolled on top of grass and tree branches and old scraps of cloth are frozen to the ground -- those lucky enough to have a frame for their beds don’t have to negotiate their pants off the ground. In a quick emergency measure, anyone with room to spare takes people into their rooms. 

The section of the Ark they’re living in now, it’s not big; there’s more of them than there are rooms, given how many rooms Raven has to repurpose for labs and greenhouses, for showers and workshops, for war-rooms, for Council and Chancellor quarters. 

But her bed is still the same ratty old thing in the corner of her workshop, because Raven eats and breathes and sleeps there, bent over new and old projects (so she doesn’t punch anyone). She’s awake when she hears the crowd migrate inside, the commotion drawing her out of her layer and into the hallways; temperatures have dropped even out there, and she tugs the jacket closer to herself. 

Without speaking, most people manage to find a place to stay the night right away, and hopefully a hot drink to go with it; all rooms that came down intact still retain some of their former amenities, and with running water now, well… 

Distraught, she almost misses him. He walks through the hallways like a ghost, like he’s not sure _if_ he belongs anywhere. His people were those sleeping outside, after all, and him with them. But where most have friends inside the Ark, Bellamy Blake stands alone and walks alone. 

But not on Raven’s watch. 

“Where are you going?” she calls after him, and he turns; she nods back to the inside of her workshop, where it looks warm. He hesitates, which is understandable, because it’s brightly-lit and full of things that can explode on him, but it’s mostly because he wasn’t expecting to get anyone’s help. 

“Come on,” she says quietly this time, and he follows her inside. The cot stares accusingly at them, a little on the narrow side, and definitely way too full of memories. (When was the last time they shared a bed? Do five seconds and a missed orgasm count?) She clears her throat. “Sharing body warmth will keep us from freezing,” she mutters, and then pulls the blankets off so he can get in. 

As if snapping out of a dream, Bellamy frowns and finally drops the blankets he’s taken in from his tent on top of her own, before giving her a pointed look. 

“Stop working.” 

“Who’s gonna if I don’t?” 

She follows him anyway. Brace on, so the metal doesn’t get the chance to freeze out from under the covers, she gets in bed; wouldn’t be able to work with him snoozing anyway. He makes space for her, and she finds he’s surprisingly warm for someone coming out from the outside, when she lies face to face with him. 

“Okay. Should’ve turned the lights off before that,” she says, and they crack a smile. After a silent agreement that he’ll be quicker than her at it, he gets out of bed to turn the lights off, until only the dim emergency light paints them a greenish hue. Guided by that, he gets in again, snuggles up closer when she lets him, and wraps her up in his arms as if making sure she’s warm and sleeps well is his way of thanking her for this.

Except.

Once their gaze meets, Bellamy suddenly moves (sleepy, perhaps, she’ll reason later on) and kisses her. His lips are cold against hers, and then they’re warm. It’s quick, because he must realize what he’s done since he pulls away with a gasp and wide eyes. 

_Same_ , Raven wants to say, breath in her throat. 

“We gonna talk about that?” she manages after a few beats. 

“Tomorrow,” he says after a few more. 

Her heartbeat settles, and her toes start to feel warm again, and she thinks _you know what?_ “I can live with that.” 

(Tomorrow: they communicate really well, tongue-to-tongue, tapping incoherent Morse-code against each other’s backs with their fingers.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be honest with me, should i start writing more m/e-rated drabbles?


	10. let's start a revolution with our mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **at the wrong moment** , for **raiindust**. last one was #softapocalypse, this one is #let'srevolt. (sidenote: i don't like abby.)

The impasse sort of comes to an end when they arrest Bellamy for stashing food. 

It goes like this: rather than send people out to hunt and forage, the Chancellor decides everyone needs to stay very close and not move an inch out of Camp. So Camp Jaha gets rebranded Arkadia, and in true Ark fashion, Abby Griffin reinstates rationing. Some of the youth they sent down on Earth to die protest, because you see they have more experience and they know which nuts are edible and which ones get you high, they have hunted before successfully, and the ground is not as dangerous once you take the people out of the equation. Which, with mount Weather down and Grounders retreating to lick their wounds in peace, they sort of have. 

But the adults -- and among the Delinquents they _are_ referred to as ‘the adults’, to make that distinction of ‘us versus them’ clearer -- have gone into protective mode. Protect at the cost of stifling. Put shortly: nobody likes the rationing when beyond Camp walls there’s a whole practically endless supply of food. 

It’s Bellamy who sees what it’s about, and tells them around the fire one night, in hushed terms. No stashing food means no trading food for favors or other things, means keeping us (and it is only about _us_ here) under their control, keeps us dependent. It’s an unspoken agreement, but every Delinquent starts to stash food as they can, eating less to keep a bit for a rainy day, because at this point who knows when the Arkers will begin doling out punishment too: instead of floating, starvation. 

They get away with it, and manage to recapture that thrill of doing the wrong thing for the right reason again. They don’t get caught; Bellamy does, when he’s spotted sharing his food with Raven, who has forgotten to stop working for twenty minutes in order to go eat. She gets to watch him be taken away in handcuffs, and she gets to listen to Abby say she’ll be lenient on him this time ( _Any other Chancellor would have him whipped._ ) 

That night, Raven slips past the guards by the cells on a weak excuse of fixing something that sounds complicated enough for them to just wave her through, and shows up in front of Bellamy’s cell. 

“Hi. So, you wanna start a revolution?” she says, in lieu of dramatic greeting. 

He doesn’t look beaten down, he doesn’t look vulnerable, he looks like he’s been righteously seething all this time; he perks up at the word _revolution_ , because of course he would. It’s in his blood to protest for a better living, because he’s had such a shitty one so far. 

“I’ve gathered the troops,” Raven continues, in a murmur, pressing herself close against the bars, hands wrapped around them. “We’re ready to just walk out whenever. It’s not much but they’re our people. And there’s enough forest to start a new camp, somewhere, give it a nerdy name like I _know_ you’re dying to do, don’t even roll your eyes at me, you know I’m right.” 

He walks up to the bars, on the opposite side, and covers her hands with his, leaning close enough that his nose almost brushes hers. 

“You got here because you tried to feed me,” Raven murmurs, before he has the chance to speak. “You have no idea what it does to me to see another person take the fall for taking care of me.” 

“I’d do it again,” he finally says, interrupting her. One hand comes up to tip her chin up, thumb playing over the curve of her jaw. “I’d do it for anyone.” 

Her stomach sinks a little. “Oh. Right - anyone.” 

He searches her gaze for something, and whatever it is, he must have found it, because he leans in and finds her lips with his, bars and all. If Raven’s fingers weren’t curled around the bars already, she’d be reaching out to grab for him, like a thirsty traveller grabs for a glass of water. He is quick, chaste, and almost teasing; he pulls away after a full breath’s time, with a parting nip to her lower lip, and presses his forehead against the bar to give her what she thinks is a shy look. 

Of course he’d do it for anyone. But he did it for _her_ specifically, and she’s not stupid. The term for her is _genius_. 

She lets go of one bar and reaches through to grab the front of his t-shirt to drag him down for a deep kiss, long and heated. 

“ _Hey!_ ”

Raven jumps back with a drowned laugh. “Let’s revisit this in the morning,” she says to him in a rush, before running in the opposite direction of the enraged guard coming her way. She’s not sure, from the light in the cell block, but she thinks she sees Bellamy smiling as she leaves.


	11. bellamy really wishes jackson left the room already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for **semele** , who asked for "when one is wounded/sick". happy anniversary, loser. you stuck with this mess for a whole year, gold star for you!! ps: i have no idea what canon point this is in, but i don't really care, i just wanted fun and slightly delirious flirting

“This is seriously interfering with my plans.” 

Jackson doesn’t even blink as he continues to stitch up a wound in Bellamy’s shoulder, or at least Bellamy doesn’t think he does. He wouldn’t know, he doesn’t have eyes on the back of his head, and what little vision he has left amidst the pain, he reserves for looking at Raven. He can count the worry lines at the corners of her mouth, where she pinches her lips together. She’s going to pretend like she was brave through his whole thing, and she’ll be right; she’s been very brave. 

But it does things to him, to see her worried and tense about him. It does, because he knows it proves something irrefutable: someone fucking cares about him this much. Not like an ally, not like a former leader, or a good soldier; Raven, when she cares, she looks like she’s ready to battle the perpetrator of his pain and tuck him in under soft blankets at the same time. He wonders how often someone has let her be that soft and tender in the past year. It might be the lack of painkillers during the stitching up, but he suddenly really wants to let her. 

“What plans?” he eventually asks, apologizing with a sullen look that his speech slurs a bit. 

Her fingers squeeze his a little tighter, centering him again just as Jackson pierces skin again. He hisses; the smell of antiseptic fills his sense of scent, and no amount of proximity to Raven will help dispel it. How did he end up with his forehead against her shoulder? Her free hand is curled over the nape of his neck, possessive and protective and almost shy. _Oh, that’s how_. 

“What plans?” he tries again. 

“How am I supposed to do you if you’re gonna go around getting your back injured?” she asks, dryly. 

His stomach does a whole jump anyway. She is joking to rile him up, he knows, because this kind of deflection is what she does when she cares so much that she’s scared of it herself, but he wants to reassure her, he is safe for her. If she wanted to give him that chance, fuck, he’ll be the safest. 

“I can always be on top,” he mutters, with fantastic humor that clearly works because she lets out a laugh. 

Jackson slaps a bandage over his skin a little too testily, if you ask Bellamy, but he doesn’t need to do more than hiss and Raven’s stroking his neck to ease him down. 

“You’re barely holding yourself up now as it is,” she points out, her mouth muffled by his shoulder now. 

“You could wait until I’m healed up to do me, then,” he suggests, helpfully. There was something in the moonshine they gave him, to numb his sense of pain even a little bit, if painkillers weren’t there to do it; he’s usually not this chatty and honest to Raven. 

“Convince me,” she says, and she says it like a dare. 

So he kisses her. It’s sloppy, and sudden, and his teeth knock against hers a little painfully, but he still manages to notice that Raven Reyes kisses him back. Her hands on his shoulders, her tongue in his mouth, she delivers an enthusiastic and brief kiss that is only ended because Jackson clears his throat loudly. 

“How’s that?” Bellamy asks, with a little smile that’s reminiscent of those times when he used to walk around with a swagger, not with his head down. 

Raven’s eyes shine with delight while she looks at him. “I could wait a few days, I guess.”

“Time of recovery is two weeks,” Jackson provides helpfully, as he leaves the fucking wardroom already.

At least, Bellamy hopes he’s gone, because he’s reaching out and pulling Raven closer with a smooth movement that he’d like to keep between the two of them. Just like the promise that follows.

“I could convince you some more.”

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired by [this](http://ravensfreckles.tumblr.com/post/157111877080/at-the-end-of-it-all-im-coming-home-to-you-at).


End file.
